It was while watching a grown woman brush the hair of a ventriloquist dummy that I realized I may have an obsession with blogging. The show was My Strange Addiction and the episode was about a sassy and pretty (in a “I write messages to myself on the mirror in lipstick” sort-of-way) young lady who has no life outside of caring for her “babies”- a.k.a. nine ventriloquist dummies that she carries around in a suitcase. Her friends and family are concerned that she is spending way too much time with her inanimate buddies and slowly becoming disconnected from the human race. Like most people in denial, she tells them that they just don’t understand and that she is happy with her life. The young woman states, “My babies let me say things I can’t get away with in real life,” so Ms. Fruitcake roams the streets with a puppet stuffed on her fist looking for people to berate. She can hide from the world behind her mask made of felt and googly eyes.
I too may hide behind a mask of felt and googly eyes. If felt looked like a blog template and googly eyes looked like words. Though I don’t use my blog to publicly chastise people, I have discovered that long periods of time blogging and updating my social profiles has managed to make me feel both equally attached and detached from humankind. Attached in that I’m “meeting” wonderful people from all over the world. Progressive thinkers, entrepreneurs, creative minds, and kindred spirits. Some of these people I’ve met offline, some of them have offered me opportunities, some of them I will fantasize about in the shower tomorrow. However, I fear that the constant attention I give towards my blog and social media profiles has caused me to be a grade-A space cadet. Last week I managed to double book myself for the first time in my life. This is especially alarming for I have nothing going on in my life to cause such negligence. It’s like when old people schedule their doctors appointments all on the same day at the same time. I now have the attention span of a ADHD-infested sugar glider and I can’t focus on ANYTHING for more than a few minutes.That includes talking to people. In social settings I often have to give the warning that I may be looking at you and smiling, but there ain’t nothin’ going on upstairs except for daydreams about retweets and backlinks. I’m off in Lalalauren-Land and it’s 73 degrees and comfy.
My biggest concern is that blogging and social media will propel my downward spiral into a shut-in flake. That person that never shows up on time, forgets to answer emails, and makes promises she can’t follow through on. My second biggest concern is that “Sorry, I can’t go out tonight, I’m washing my hair” has turned into, “Sorry, I can’t go out tonight, I’m writing a blog post.” I have been on a date or two this year where I felt my time was better spent writing a blog post about how terrible the date was. My third biggest concern is that my ass will get big. Well, not big, but pastry bag-esque. You know, those loose bags packed to the brim with cannoli filling? That is what my ass is going to look like. Two bags of lard hanging off my backside that I want to chuck against the wall .
I keep telling myself that this isolating behavior is ok for right now, considering I have big plans for my writing and blog this year and it’s requiring a lot of my attention. However, what if right now turns into ten years later and I’m that lady sitting on her bed, surrounded by ventriloquist dummies that she may or may not be intimate with on a regular basis? I’m only now embracing the idea that my blog is a micro-business, something that requires time and energy, but should it come at the cost of hanging out with friends? Remembering that you scheduled time to hang with friends and forgetting? Going out on dates? Bathing? Basic grooming habits? Moving more than five feet in the span of four hours? Being sober?
How do you find balance between wanting to be a successful writer/blogger and real life?
Interesting read: What Your Ventriloquist Dummy Says About You